Blinded By the Light
by Neva
Summary: As threats mount from within and without, the question arises of who the X-Men can trust... including themselves. Ultimate X-Men setting. Anti-Xavier.
1. Prologue

A/N: After encouragement from Charlie's Angels (a.k.a. Alara Rogers and Andraste), from my RL allies in the Cause, and from my muse, I'm trying this Ultimate thing on for size. After all this time of wildly exaggerating Xavier's personality to make him evil, it's going to be interesting to write based on someone else's version of his dark side.

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men any more than I did when I was looking for a new source of evil and mayhem for fanfic and my friend said, "Well, there's always Charles Xavier."

Dedication: For the ones who asked.

Prologue

Nobody gives me a second glance as I wait on the steps of the school. I might be the older brother of one of the students, here to provide a ride home. I might be waiting for that young, pretty teacher with the curly hair and the low-cut blouses. Hell, they might think I'm planning to rob the place. I don't care. He once said that he wished I thought as quickly as I moved. This was after the first time I suggested that I zip into Xavier's little bomb shelter and accomplish what Wolverine would eventually fail at.

I'm not sure what he meant. Considering how fast I can move, I'm not even sure it can be an insult.

The point is, I could probably come up with a story pretty damn quickly. If anyone asked. They wouldn't believe me if I told them the truth: "Oh, I'm waiting for my mutant terrorist father, whom the whole world thought was dead." Right.

When I saw him in the park that day, playing Frisbee with a bunch of little kids, I thought I was hallucinating even when I zipped closer to get a better look. The temptation to rush up to Xavier and Colossus and shake the old geezer until he gives me some answers was overwhelming, but I have a pretty good idea of what he's capable of. And pretty soon, all of them were distracted by some huge crisis that went down in Europe and put their zit-faced human ice cube in intensive care. I thought for sure that it would be the end of their little crusade for good. No go.

Anyway, Wanda thought I was seeing things, too. We're living separately now, but when I called her cell phone (God knows where she got her hands on it; I sure don't, and I didn't ask), she cut me off before I even finished telling her what I'd seen. "Pie, I do not believe you don't understand what's going on here." I hate it when she uses that tone of voice that I know means she's going to play the Daddy's-boy card. I hate it when she calls me Pie.

"I don't?" I replied sarcastically.

"You can't accept the fact that you're living your own life now, Magneto-free, so you start seeing him everywhere. Pure psychology."

"Don't patronize me, Wanda."

"He's gone, Pietro. Baldy killed him. And I was crushed, too, believe me, but what you're doing is too classic for words."

"I've heard more about this guy than you have. He doesn't strike me as the type who would kill anyone."

"You really expect me to believe," she said, "that while he didn't even let you call him Father without permission, he opened up about his past with Xavier?"

"I wasn't hallucinating. I don't want him back in my life."

"So you say."

"I know what I saw!" I snapped.

"Okay. Okay. Chill. Do you have any idea where to find him?"

I sighed. That was the closest she'd come to _I believe you_. "No, but I can find out."

A bell — not the shrill whine of the high-school bells I've heard, but one long, irritating note — ushers me back into the present. Teachers usher kids half my size out of the building, toward buses and vans. Still, none of them look my way.

He's the last to leave. Silver hair. Silver beard. Wearing clothes that actually border on casual. Walking alone. And he does look in my direction. And I recognize him. No doubt about it. And even though I had believed my eyes the first time, the sight of him —- alive! — even in this context, speeds my heard up even faster than usual.

I have a ridiculous urge to say, "Quicksilver reporting for duty, sir!"

But he speaks first. "May I help you?"

Maybe I'm wrong. No, I can't be wrong. I know him!

"I'm Erik Lensherr. I teach fourth grade here. Are you looking for someone?"

I can't speak. Is he undercover? Could he have faked his own death, disguised himself, and set up shop here to plan… what? But that doesn't make sense; we're alone now. The last of the buses has pulled out."

"Father, it's me. Pietro." How cheesy does that sound? Like something out of a soap opera.

He shakes his head. "Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not married. No kids."

In the past, he's pretended I wasn't there until I called him "sir." But this isn't one of those times. He's watching me, and there's something about his eyes that I don't like. Emotion has never been one of his strong points, and he's always been good at keeping his feelings off his face, his eyes like chips of ice or hot burning coals. But never like this. Never just… blank, like he could smile or laugh or frown, and they would still resemble two shiny coins. Am I making sense?

Thought not.

I prod a little more. He just looks more and more confused, says that I must be mistaking him for someone else. I apologize and make my exit. It's not until I'm back in my own rathole apartment that I start shaking uncontrollably.

I know what I saw.

And as I think back, I know why I saw it.

I leave again, in search of a phone. Wanda has to hear about this.


	2. The Real Thing

A/N: This chapter takes place just after issue #20.

Chapter 1: The Real Thing

"I thought I'd find you here."

The darkness of the room bore such a strong contrast to the glow of the computer screen that Henry had to blink several times before he could perceive the slender form standing in its frame. "'Ro, it's one in the morning. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Couldn't," was the terse reply. "Come upstairs, please. Or at least let's break into the kitchen for something to eat."

"I'll be okay, thanks."

"Sure?"

"Positive." As she turned to go, "But you can stay here if you like. I'll only be a few minutes more."

"Thanks." She seated herself in one of the empty chairs. "What are you doing?"

"Checking the papers for how the lawsuit's going. Professor Xavier's pretty hush-hush about the whole thing, but as far as I can tell, they're bringing up all kinds of child-endangerment clauses. It sounds like the Drakes aren't even that involved anymore. It's all lawyers who want to bite a chunk out of the X-Men's operations." He shook his head. "It doesn't look good."

"How is Bobby?"

"No change."

"You miss him, don't you?" Ororo asked softly.

"It wasn't supposed to turn out like this." She started to speak. He cut her off. "I know, I know, we both knew the risks when we joined up. That was what you were going to say, right?"

"I knew the risks when I thought we'd lost you in our first battle against Bucket Head," she replied. "Not before. When I joined up…" She frowned. "I guess I was just happy for the change. I didn't have any idea that one of the team was going to get hurt."

"So you miss Iceman, too?"

"I miss _Bobby_," she corrected him. "God, Henry, he's your best friend. Can't you even call him by his real name?"

He actually turned away from the computer. "Sorry, babe. I don't know what came over me."

"Accepted." She caught him staring at him fixedly. "Something else you wanted to say?" When he didn't answer, she rolled her pale eyes. "You're not still thinking _that_, are you?"  
  


"Two telepaths per household is my limit."

"It is way too late at night for conspiracy theories," Ororo told him firmly.

"Think about it a second. Scott leaves after a big blowout with Xavier, but then he comes back. Colossus tries to return to his normal life. Ditto. Wolverine comes here to _kill_ him, and ends up switching sides."

"Maybe Jean's just great in bed," she suggested.

"Ororo!"

"Shhh, you'll wake the others. Anyway, the whole reason Magneto sent Wolverine was because Xavier couldn't get inside his head, right?" After another silence, "I thought so."

"But what about Scooter and Colossus? And what about the fact that Bobby's in a coma and all any of us can think about is the loss the team's been suffering? What's to stop me from believing that Proteus wasn't just provoking us, and the professor really is…"

"I don't know." His girlfriend's voice had taken on an edge of steel. "Maybe the fact that he _isn't_?"

"Well, then what about when I suggested that we move in together, _away from the school_, and you hesitated?"

"I thought smart people were above paranoia," she accused.

"No such luck. We're paranoid _because_ we know too much."

"Henry, please listen," she said. "I've had my doubts, too. It's a human thing, never really being happy with the situation you're in. And you're still human, too, no matter if you're pink or blue or green with yellow polka dots. Knowing what he did to Magneto, I wouldn't put anything past him. Got that?"

Henry nodded. "But —" he prompted.

"_But_ I also know how persuasive he can be even _without_ screwing around with people's heads. I know that this is the only home Scott's known since he was almost half your age. And I know that this is the first family I've had since…" She shook her head. "I can't even remember. I have friends. I have all the adventure I could ever want. I have a place where I don't have to hide or feel alone. And I have you. Don't I?" She scooted her swivel-chair closer.

"Ororo, go to bed. I'll be up soon."

"You're mad at me," she said decisively.

"I'm not."

"You are. Look, if you want, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But until I have proof, I'm not making waves. I've learned a thing or two about taking risks since I came here."

He raised his voice. "Will you listen to _your_self? 'Since I came here.' Like you never would have amounted to anything if Jean and Xavier hadn't found you! How can I know that I'm really hearing you? How can I know that you ever really…"

She stood up. "Good night, Henry." And before he could reply, she vanished into the darkness.

When she woke up the next morning, she knew immediately that he hadn't come upstairs at all.


	3. Out of Bounds

Chapter 2: Out of Bounds

To any observer, including the armed guard outside his door, Bobby Drake was in a several-week-old coma, insensible to the outside world.

In his mind, however, he was far from the hospital, somewhere else, some_when_ else. It was a day — and an event — that his waking self wouldn't recognize, but deep down inside, he remembered it all too well.

_The chorus of voices reached a slightly off-key crescendo: — "Happy birthday, dear Maddy, happy birthday to you!" — followed by cheers as Madeline blew out the flames on the large wax "40" on top of the cake._

_"Presents!" a smaller cousin squealed. "Aunt Maddy, presents!"_

_Bobby presented his mother with a bottle of her favorite shampoo, feeling the barest trace of guilt creep over his consciousness. It was the same feeling he'd gotten a lot lately, the one that asked, "Do I have the right to be enjoying myself when there are evil mutants going nuts all over the world?"_

_It might sound ridiculous. Okay, sure, it did sound ridiculous. Almost as bad as the disorientation he felt when he had re-entered his old room, with the "Gentlemen, welcome to my underground lair" sign on the door. He hadn't taken much with him when he'd run away, so his room looked pretty much like he'd left it. The magazines he'd been reading that day stacked on the dresser, and the books were straightened, but otherwise, it was like he'd dreamed the whole thing. He remembered raising his arm and watching it turn to ice from fingertips to elbow. So much for that._

_But he had also thought, _No, this isn't my room. My room is a hell of a lot cleaner than this; it always passes inspection. And there's not nearly as much… stuff in it. And those people downstairs, they don't understand what I'm doing, they don't understand what it's like to face the most dangerous mutant in the world and survive to beat your last StarCraft score.__

_That had been one part of him. But there had been another that wanted to curl up on his old bed — now neatly made — and wrap himself up in the blanket and hide. Forever. He even half considered calling up some of his old friends, then thought better of it. What would he have said to them? He didn't want to remember what his parents seemed so intent on reminding him of: that he was fifteen years old and completely deserved a normal life._

_He couldn't let himself think that. He was an X-Man. He couldn't make room for anything else. He didn't want to. And yet he did._

_"Bobby?"_

_He blinked. "Yeah?"_

_She was an inch or so shorter than he was, with brown hair in one of those fancy bun things and large blue eyes. Not as skinny or gorgeous as Jean or Ororo (the latter of whom was going out with his closest friend, mustn't forget that), but pretty all the same. He blinked again, trying to bring himself back into the real world. He knew this girl. "Zelda. Hi."_

_She grinned. "And I thought you'd forgotten me."_

_"Never." Zelda Langley had been his first love. (Not that he'd really had anything that could count as a second.) The two of them had spent a lot of time together last year, always hovering on the edge of being a "real couple," but her father, whom she lived with, had scared the spit out of him. Same old story; move over, John Cusack. (Except he'd never be able to think up anything as smooth as holding up a stereo playing their song right outside her window.) Despite her dad's overprotectiveness, she definitely went her own way; she hadn't taken advantage of the fact that she was a year older than he was, treating him like the stupid, awkward kid that he was sure he was acting like. The days when he would have done anything for her came rushing back._

_He'd hoped to stay aloof the whole time, but he found himself accepting her invitation to step outside for some fresh air. There wouldn't be any harm in it… would there?_

_"So, how've you been?" he asked once they were outside._

_"Good," she said. "I've been in Paris, did your mom tell you that?"_

_"What were you doing there?"_

_"It was a foreign exchange thing."_

_"Did you, um, like it?" He remembered being impressed when she told him about her plans to visit Europe someday._

_"I loved it. Their hot chocolate?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"A religious experience," she declared._

_"Is it true what they say about French guys?" he asked before he could stop himself._

_She blushed. "I wouldn't know."_

_"Yeah, I guess they wouldn't." They talked more, as the light outside changed and deepened. Whatever was going on inside, let alone back at the Institute, faded away. The more he listened to her, the more he wondered why he could have let a little thing like a temperamental father break them up. His own nerves — or lack thereof — had definitely played a part, now that he thought about it._

_"God, listen to me," she said. "I haven't asked you a single thing about what you've been doing."_

_"You can ask now."_

_"Okay. I heard that you've been away somewhere at school. What's that like?"_

_Having listened to her, he wondered now what he could tell her that would impress her. The operative phrase, of course, being, "what he could tell her." Bobby Drake's life had never been anything to shout about. Iceman's, on the other hand…_

_He couldn't believe he was thinking what he was thinking._

_He'd be in such big trouble if he was found out._

_On the other hand, he might not be found out._

_On the other hand, did he really think he could keep stuff like that from the professor?_

_On still another hand, if anything made good party conversation, this did._

_On still _another_ hand…_

_"Well, it's a funny thing. See, I was at this place called the Xavier Institute…"_


	4. What Can't Be Helped

Chapter 3: What Can't Be Helped

If not for close proximity and teamwork (nothing like a battle with a reality-warping terrorist to bring people closer), Jean Grey and Ororo Munroe would never have been able to carry on a conversation, much less become friends. Jean had been enrolled in a snooty private school before the voices in her head had landed her in a mental hospital; Ororo had learned the intricacies of the English language from the movies she watched. Jean was easy to get along with and had a killer sense of humor in most situations; Ororo smoldered beneath her ultra-cool exterior.

And, as they discovered today, Jean had always been better at becoming involved in relationships… and staying in them.

"I don't get it," Ororo complained as they sat outside eating lunch. Jean had just shared the news of the kiss she and Scott had shared at the hospital. "First Logan, now Scott. Try telling me you're not controlling their minds. Look me in the eye and say it."

"Logan didn't count," Jean said evasively. "We slept together, and it was great until I found out about his ulterior motives, but it wasn't a _relationship_. It was just two people in a fancy hotel room trying to postpone doomsday." She caught the look on the other girl's face and grinned. "I know, you're probably wondering why I say it like it's a bad thing. What are you complaining about, anyway? Are you and Henry fighting?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Just that," Ororo said impatiently. "I came downstairs last night and he was still working at the computer. We got to talking about Bobby, and he got all pissy at me."

"Well, you upset him," Jean reasoned. "It's obvious."

"I know how tight he and Bobby were. We're all worried."

"The team's not the same without him."

"Right. But that's not what we were fighting about."

"Then what were you fighting about?" Jean wanted to know. "Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to pick it from your mind?"

Now it was Ororo's turn to be evasive. "He was getting paranoid. I called him on it."

"Oh." Jean knew there must be more to it than that, but refused to pursue it further… or to pry.

"Henry's the first guy I've ever been crazy about," Ororo said after she'd finished chewing. "I grew up in a tribal village, right? That means arranged marriages. And even when I came to the States, the car-theft business doesn't make for lasting relationships _of any kind_. You know what? You and Scott give me hope."

"Hope for what?"

"Hope that even with all the craziness that comes with all of this" — she waved her arm, encompassing the school grounds — "we can still do normal things like fall in love."

"Glad I could help. But you guys were talking about leaving, right?"

"Not leaving for good," Ororo said hastily. "Just not living here all the time. I talked to the professor about it, and he said" — she put on a passable imitation of Xavier — "'We would all miss you, Storm, but if you stayed within emergency range, I don't see how it would cause harm for you and Beast to carry on the pretense of a normal life.'"

"Okay, I have known him a lot longer than you have, and he does not sound like that."

"But if we break up, it doesn't really matter."

"Whoa!" Jean held up her hands. "So, after one fight-that-might-not-have-been-a-fight, you're talking about breaking up?"

"I don't know," Ororo sighed. "But if we did live together…"

"Yeah?"

"_Would_ it be just a pretense?"

**

When the phone rang, Scott was in the kitchen, concentrating equally on the making of his own lunch, and on Jean.

Only the fact that it would be a strict violation of character (_under no circumstances_ did Cyclops question the difference between reality and dreams), he would have been forced to pinch himself. When he had watched from the window, what felt like a lifetime and a half ago, and felt anger seething up inside him at her and Wolverine locked in an embrace, it hadn't even occurred to him that it was jealousy that he was feeling. _Just suspicion_, he had assured himself firmly. _I don't trust that guy_. Cyclops didn't let emotions get in the way of judgment, either.

He put down the knife and mustard jar and went to answer the shrilling phone.

"I'm going to ask you this once," the caller snarled. "And you'd better be honest with me, you ass-kissing lapdog. What did he do to Magneto?"


	5. The Normal Things in Life

Chapter 4: The Normal Things in Life  
  
_He had learned a long time ago that there was only one way to handle a double life. Part of it came from reading so many Batman comic books, part of it came from Jean's advice before he made the first call to his parents, but the rest was pure common sense. It was as simple as this: keep the two lives separate. When his parents were present, when the three of them were eating dinner or sitting out on the back porch talking, he didn't speak of the Institute as anything more than a school for the unusually intelligent. And during downtime with the others — even as far Hank, his best friend, or Storm, the hottest girl he had _ever_ laid eyes on, were concerned, he was an unwanted reject just like Scott. The first was sort of on account of his parents' uneasiness about what was "wrong" with him, and the second was — okay, okay — part of trying to sound like he didn't have any use for family ties.  
  
  
  
But his Mode of Dealing was also necessary. He couldn't explain it, but sometimes he felt like he couldn't contain two separate lives, and if they were ever allowed to connect, he would self-destruct. Or something.  
  
  
  
Bobby pulled the visor of his green cap a little further down over his eyes and leaned down a little further in his seat. He had less than two hours of normalcy left, and he did not want to spend them listening to his parents coo about the time he'd spent with Zelda in the last couple of days. He prayed that they would be too busy worrying that Xavier would have him jumping through hoops to think about something as normal as a new (old?) girlfriend.  
  
  
  
"I saw you talking with Zelda Langley at the party, honey," his mother remarked from the front seat.  
  
  
  
Scratch that. And never mind that he couldn't think of a single answer except, "Uh-huh?"  
  
  
  
"You and her thinking of getting back together?" William Drake asked.  
  
  
  
"Thinking about it." What was he supposed to say? _I was caught off guard when she wanted to talk to me again, floored when she let me kiss her, and too busy pinching myself to smell a rat when she didn't run screaming from the room after I told her the whole story? Didn't even ask me to prove it by icing up? Just said "Wow" a bunch of times, had me assure her that I hadn't gotten hooked into some crazy conspiracy, and asked if I wanted to hang out again before I had to go back? _Neither of his parents had even mentioned it, but it was hard to miss the fact that they'd invited him home the same week the other X-Men had been in Japan. They hadn't wanted him exposed to the publicity the others were getting.  
  
  
  
Didn't they understand?  
  
  
  
Of course they didn't. It was clear that ever since he'd first called them from the school, they had kept a safe distance between themselves and what he was doing. He would have known it even if his mom hadn't demanded, "They want you to do what? Wearing what?"  
  
  
  
"She's quite something," Madeline Drake said now.  
  
  
  
"Yeah." Nobody had to tell him that. He'd known it for himself ever since he'd first met her in eighth-grade social studies. _Please don't ask how much she knows. Please don't. I have enough to worry about, wondering what_  
  
  
  
He sat bolt upright as if the thought hadn't occurred to him before. Oh, man. Oh, _man_. What _would_ the professor say? "Bobby, I'm surprised at you. How could you have compromised us like that? I'm afraid I'm not sure if you can stay one of us if we can't even trust you with this one secret."  
  
  
  
He couldn't stand the thought of being sent away. On top of that, he had made a promise to himself, on meeting Xavier for the first time, that he would never do anything to make this guy mad. _Ever_. Forget Zelda's promise that she wouldn't tell anyone. Even if she wasn't lying, and his secret was safe with her, he would never live this down. Not a chance.  
  
  
  
Why had he even told her? To impress her, sure, but she had made it perfectly clear that she would have been interested — and stayed interested — even if he'd been the same person he was when they'd still been going out. Had he been worried that she wouldn't like him for who he was?  
  
  
  
Whoever that was.  
  
  
  
_Maybe I just wanted to take a risk. And not the kind that I took when I ran away from home or had to fight old Magneto in D.C., either. Maybe I knew that if it didn't happen now, it would happen sooner or later. Maybe I really, really wanted there to be a later._  
  
  
  
Nobody would hear of this. He would beg to Xavier, give him permission to mind-scan Zelda to make sure she didn't have anything up her sleeve. If it came to that. So important to keep the two lives separate. But not as important as  
  
  
  
_doing something that he didn't authorize, something that I could enjoy without for once worrying about what the others would think. Something normal. Something for me. For her, too. Giving her the truth. You want humans and mutants to get along? Watch it happen._  
  
  
  
Who knew? Maybe he'd even be happy.  
  
  
  
Yeah, right.  
  
  
  
Because he _hadn't_ authorized it.  
  
  
  
Oh, man.  
  
  
  
One way or another, it would be okay. It had to be.  
  
  
  
"when you get back?"  
  
  
  
He blinked. "Huh?"  
  
  
  
"Are you going to stay in touch with her when you get back?"  
  
  
  
"I hope I can." Buoyed now, he confessed, "She's probably scared that I'll forget all about her."  
  
  
  
"Will you?" William asked, trying not to smile.  
  
  
  
"Not a chance," Bobby said firmly.  
  
  
  
His parents smiled at each other. He knew they thought he was happy and safe. Which, for the most part, he was. He could handle himself. As usual, they had nothing to worry about.  
  
  
  
Which is why Madeline was doubtlessly surprised when, as they stood outside the Institute with the rain pounding against the skin of their umbrella, he flung his arms around her as if this were the last time he'd ever see either of them. He could barely understand it himself.  
  
  
  
Then he picked up his bag and walked through the doors of the school without looking back. One life had already been swept aside to make room for another. If he looked back, the two would collide.  
  
  
  
The kitchen was startlingly hot and steamy after standing outside in the cold rain. Henry and Ororo were making goo-goo eyes at each other across the table. It was a full minute before either of them even realized that he was there.  
  
  
  
"Welcome back!" Ororo exclaimed. "Have fun?"  
  
  
  
"You know it."  
  
  
  
Henry held out his hand, which Bobby slapped. "Want some cocoa?"  
  
  
  
"Great. Then I have to go upstairs and work on something on the computer." Well, it was true. He was already composing what he'd say to her, how he'd make sure she knew how important it was not to lose his first and last tie to the normal world.  
  
  
  
It would be okay. It would.  
  
  
  
Welcome home, Iceman.  
  
  
  
Bobby stopped in his tracks, telling himself to stay cool. No pun intended.  
  
  
  
It appears that you've given a whole new meaning to "telling stories out of school." I'm surprised at you.  
  
  
  
There it was. Unexpectedly, he found himself retorting, _It's none of your business._  
  
  
  
The welfare of my other students is always my business.  
  
  
  
_I can explain.  
_  
  
  
I know about temptation, Robert. And about the eagerness to please. We all make mistakes. Mine was not stressing the importance of keeping to ourselves.  
  
  
  
_Which is why you sent the others advertising all over Japan?  
_  
  
  
No reply for a minute. Then, I'm not sure I'm willing to tolerate that kind of back-talk.  
  
  
  
_So I'm going to be punished now?  
_  
  
  
Much longer pause. I think not.  
  
  
  
He sighed in relief, wondering if Henry or Ororo had noticed. Nope, they were back to staring at each other. That was it, then. No detention, no extra chores, no being sent to his room to think about what he'd done.  
  
  
  
I apologize in advance.  
  
  
  
_Huh? For what?  
_  
  
  
It's for the best.  
  
  
  
_Professor?  
_  
  
  
I'm sure you won't find any need to question me.  
_


	6. Inquiring Minds

Chapter 5: Inquiring Minds

The voice on the other end of the phone immediately put Scott's teeth on edge. Out of everyone in the Brotherhood, Quicksilver had always gotten on his nerves the most. Anyone that arrogant always did, but anyone who managed to be simultaneously arrogant _and_ sniveling had the superhuman ability to make Scott want to choke something.

During his brief stay in the Savage Land, it hadn't taken him long to figure out that Magneto was intent on treating him as a surrogate son, and even less time to figure out why. Trying to find Wanda's weak spots would have been a waste of time; she was almost as skilled at letting things slide off of her as she was with her probability-altering powers. But it wouldn't have taken a telepath to see where Pietro was vulnerable, and how exactly to spite him.

Even now that the twins were eating lunch with their "Uncle Charles" every week, they kept a safe distance from the Institute and its residents. It was probably just as well. It took all of Scott's training not to respond with anything more than "What?" He didn't even have to fake the curiosity.

"You heard me, Summers."

_Don't call the Professor in yet. You can handle this._ "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then I'll explain. And I'll use small words." The aspiring heir to the Homo Superior empire had seen _The Princess Bride_. Who knew? "The entire world agrees that Magneto died in a showdown with Xavier in DC. You guys got your fifteen minutes of fame because of it. Am I right?"

"So far."

"So why did I see him playing Frisbee in the park with a bunch of little kids?" Without waiting for an answer, Pietro plunged on. "So why did I track him down and find out that he had never even heard of me before?"

"Because you've completely and totally lost your mind?" Scott suggested.

"Interesting choice of words, Cyclops." The silver-haired speedster drew out the "S" sounds at either end of the word as long as the limits of mockery would allow.

"If this is about the professor, I don't want to hear about it. I get enough of that from the others." Oops, shouldn't have mentioned that. "Granted, though, I can take hearing it from you. Do you lie awake at night thinking up conspiracy theories?"

"Will you stop?" If Scott didn't know better, he could have sensed what passed for a note of desperation creeping into Pietro's tone. "I don't have time for games. Can I get a straight answer from you, or is that not part of your programming?"

"You're going to have to take this up with the professor," Scott heard himself saying.

"Thought so." Now Pietro just sounded disgusted.

"Shall I tell him to leave the gates open?" Scott asked sarcastically.

"Don't do me any favors." And then, just when he least expected it, the line went dead. Only the buzz of the dial tone against his ear convinced Scott that what had happened had actually happened. The details of the conversation itself were too surreal for words, and, in its own way, its possible meaning a little to much to comprehend. 


	7. Emergence

Chapter 6: Emergence

_"Excited about going home?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"You've never told us about any of your friends, Bobby. Do you have any?"_

_"Duh, Peter, of course I have friends."_

_"Surely not a girlfriend, too?"_

_"Well, sort of. Here, check this out. That's her on the left."_

_"She's pretty."_

_"Yeah, we've kind of been on some sort of screwy romantic seesaw since eighth grade. Sometimes yes, sometimes no."_

_"Well, good luck."_

_"Thanks, man."_

_ (One of the others cares that I have a life? Huh.)_

Dark shadows fell over the memories, watching him.

_"As in Charles Xavier?" Zelda asked._

_"Yeah."_

_"As in the X-Men?"_

_"Yeah."_

_She drew back a little, noticed that he noticed, and said, "Go on…"_

_But he had seen the connection being made in her eyes, understanding turning to disbelief turning to horror. "Forget it."_

_"No, really. So if you're with the X-Men, then you must be…"_

_"Yeah. They call me Iceman."_

_"Iceman," Zelda repeated, as if trying out the sound of it. "Dear God."_

_She hadn't run back inside screaming. That was a good sign. "The name wasn't my idea," he said quickly._

_"I kind of figured. Dear God. I mean, I haven't spoken to you in…"_

_"A year and seven months," he supplied._

_"Oooo-kay. A year and seven months it is. And meanwhile, my country is being saved by someone who got sick on the roller coaster at the spring carnival."_

(He had thrown up after the battle with Magneto in Washington, too, but didn't see why he had to tell her about that. Or about the nightmares he'd been having since that day.)

A fierce wrenching sensation in his mind.

_"Are you going to stay in touch with her when you get back?"_

_"I hope I can. She's probably scared that I'll forget all about her."_

_"Will you?"_

_"Not a chance."_

Names and faces. Cotton candy and shrieks of terror. John Cusack movies and the search for Their Song. Regrets and fights and the touch of her hand. Blurred together, faded into the fog and the darkness of things forgotten.

Voices he knew. Voices he recognized. Voices he trusted. Scott, Jean, Peter, Hank, Ororo. Xavier.

A light in the darkness, blinding him, hurting his eyes. Like that guy who crawled out of the cave and saw the sun, it forced him to see the truth that made him hide his eyes again. He understood what he had been missing. He understood what had been hidden from him, what was hidden in the darkness. He tried to speak, to confirm what part of him refused to believe. "He… 'rased… m'mind…"

The light resolved into a face that, for a horrible moment, he couldn't place at all. 

"Did you say something?" the face asked, tears and hope in her voice.

"Uhhh…" He got no further. He was suspended in the light, unable to move. Was he dead? All he wanted was to sleep again.

"Bobby? Can you hear me, honey? Are you awake?"

She sat by his bed. She ordinarily looked years younger than her actual age, but today she looked decades older. Her red hair was unfashionably loose; her clothes looked like she'd picked them out in the dark. "Mom," he croaked, recognizing her at last.

She swallowed. "Thank God," she said in a monotone. She scooted her chair as close to the bed as the machines surrounding it would allow.

"Where…" he managed.

She misunderstood. "Do you see me? I'm right here."

Bobby took as deep a breath as he could. "Where… is… here?"

"The hospital," his mother said softly. "You were hurt while you were on one of your…" She grimaced. "Missions. With the others."

Memory came flooding back. Proteus. The battle in Berlin. Oh God oh God. "Are… they… okay?"

The grimace deepened. "Yes."

_Were they here?_ was the question he'd been wanting to ask. Sometime during the time when he'd been under, he could have sworn he heard Jean's voice. He tried to clear his throat, with some marginal success. "Why… can't I move?"

"Some of the injuries were very bad. You're trussed up like a turkey." She smiled weakly. "Don't be scared, though. You're going to be fine." The smile faded again, and she looked straight ahead, like she wasn't seeing him at all. "Just fine. I'm going to find a doctor now, and tell him you're awake."

_Were they here?_ The words bubbled up inside of him, trying to force their way out.

He was almost afraid of the answer, and didn't have the slightest clue why.

What seemed like hours later, he was staring out the window at the darkening sky. He'd been poked and prodded by countless doctors, fussed over by both his parents, and even approached by a sleazy journalist or two. All of them had come to the same conclusion: "The worst is over."

Somehow, Bobby doubted that very much.


	8. The Great Divide

Chapter 7: The Great Divide

"I have good news."

The voice from the doorway caused Henry to look up from his computer, Peter and Jean from their textbooks, and Ororo from her folded arms, which had been cradling her head a moment before. A longer-than-necessary Danger Room session had left her seriously bushed. Scott, who had been lying on the couch and using Jean's knee as a pillow, turned his head in Xavier's general direction to signify his attentiveness. The general, unspoken response was, _Say more things like that_.

Xavier didn't wait for any of them to ask; he simply said, "Iceman is conscious."

Ororo's eyes opened all the way and she gave a low whistle of victory. Jean's face broke into a wide grin, and even Scott gave a rare smile. Henry shut his laptop with a snap. "Are you sure?"

"I used Cerebro to pinpoint his thought-patterns. He's recovering comfortably in his hometown hospital on Long Island… still dazed, still coming to terms with the incident that laid him low in the first place, but, yes, very much awake."

"That's good news, all right," Ororo acknowledged. "So, when do we get to see him?"

"'Ro, I had to cloud the policemen's minds just to sneak Scott and me in," Jean said softly. "I don't think they're going to let all of us come parading in to see him at once."

"Okay, so, we can take down Magneto, and we can convince Quicksilver that he's hallucinating his dad's miraculous resurrection" — here the white-haired weather witch twirled her hands up around her head — "but we're going to let a few cops stop us? Puh-_lease_. I thought we were the X-Men."

"We're also, unfortunately, on the receiving end of a fifty-million-dollar lawsuit," Henry reminded her. "As far as Mr. and Mrs. Drake are concerned, the police and Senator Turk are the Ghostbusters who are going to make the bogeymen go away." He opened his computer again. "Booga-booga," he added glumly.

"Who's Senator Turk?" Peter asked, frowning.

"He's assisting and counseling the Drakes in their case against us," said Xavier. "Apparently, he's decided that helping to launch a crusade against mutants will boost his image in the eyes of his supporters, many of whom believe we're the spawn of Satan. Literally."

"Bobby hasn't _agreed_ to this, has he?" Scott asked incredulously.

"As far as I can tell, he has no idea it's even happening. His parents are waiting until the time is right to tell him."

"So Turk is filling the Drakes' pockets in the lawsuit," Jean surmised. "Can I ask you a question, Professor?"

"If you want to know who's filling mine, I've recently made contact with our benefactors in the city."

"Now that they're helping us get Iceman back, are you finally going to tell us who they are?"

"Their discretion was their part of the deal, not mine, Jean. We've been the target of so much media attention lately that the fewer of us know where all of this comes from, the less chance it has of leaking out."

"Come on, you don't trust us to keep a secret?"

"I trust most of you to keep secrets," Xavier said firmly. "If ever you have need to know where our money is coming from, rest assured, I won't hesitate to tell you. For now, however, the subject is closed."

"Okay." Jean suddenly became very interested in combing Scott's hair through her fingers.

**

"You must be so happy that Bobby's finally awake," Ororo said later. She was sitting on the bed in her nightgown, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Henry, still fully dressed, continued to stare out the window. "Very," he agreed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Henry, for God's sakes. Is it something I said? Something I did? 'Cause if it is, you'd better tell me. I'm not —"

He held up his hand. "Please don't."

Her face softened. "Are you still worried about Bobby?"

"No. Yes. I mean, I am, but it's not just that." He didn't turn to look at her. "Whether they manage to close down the school or not, I doubt any of us are ever going to see him again."

"Of course we are," she said.

"His parents are the ones who started this. You heard the professor. They want to keep him safe from us. We want him back here."

"I know."

"Nobody is giving too much thought to what _he_ wants. I guess that's what's bothering me. If I had as much time as he's going to have to think this whole thing over, I would certainly wonder if the superhero life was really the one for me, too."

Ororo frowned. "Don't you want him to come back?"

"Of course."

"Then cheer up," she suggested. "The professor thinks that there's a very good chance he'll take our side in this fight."

Henry turned around to stare at her straight on. "Why is he so sure?"

"Henry, _don't_."

"Don't what? Don't tell you how I feel, what I'm afraid of? I assumed we were always going to be honest with each other."

"I know. I want that, too."

"But you still think I'm crazy."

"No, not crazy. Just —"

"Paranoid," he finished for her. Bitterly. "You said that."

"It's not true, Hank."

She was the only person in the known universe allowed to call him that. "How do you know?"

"Because he took us all in. He's taken care of us. We're supposed to trust him."

"Which would be a good opportunity to make sure we just _keep on_ trusting him."

"Henry, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"I can't even imagine myself being sad if Bobby has to leave," he went on. "All I can picture is the team without Iceman. If you left, if you decided to go back to jacking cars… all right, I feel something there, but I'd be sorry, that's it. And then I'd go back to my life, because _the professor always said_ that tragedies are what make us stronger."

"You're still feeling sorry for yourself," she said decisively. "Don't. Please. It's not your fault you look like this, and it's not your fault he got hurt, and it's…"

"Listen to yourself!" he practically shouted. She shrank back, and immediately hated herself for it. "Look at what you just did. _Look_. You're talking about something that didn't have _anything_ to do what I was saying, just like you were reading off of cue cards. Like someone was telling you to sound emotional, and sympathetic, and loving. And then you cringed. Instinctively. Because… I'm not going to try to argue with you anymore."

"Good," she said.

"You've been all 'you're just feeling a lot of self-doubt, Hank' and 'you're just blaming yourself, Hank' and 'your inferiority complex is stemming paranoia, Hank.' And I'm sick of it. I don't want to be psychoanalyzed by Storm. I want to know how _you_, Ororo Munroe, feel about me."

"How do I _feel_?" she repeated. "I _love_ you. How many times do I have to say it?"

He sighed and stretched out on the bed next to her, but he still didn't look her way. "One more ought to suffice." He didn't add, _for now_.

She placed her palms on either side of his furry face. "I love you," she said softly. "I don't want us to fight."

"Neither do I."

"And I want you to trust me."

"I do trust you."

"And I want you to trust the professor. Can you do that?"

Henry took off his glasses, polished them, and set them on the nightstand. "I can," he said, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see the truths of the universe inscribed on its surface.


	9. Slings And Arrows

Chapter 8: Slings and Arrows

It looked like a gorgeous day — blue sky, fluffy clouds, the works. From the vantage point of ridiculous traction, Bobby could see a slice of that sky outside his window. Not that he cared one way or the other. The last couple of days had passed in a haze of painkillers and faceless voices. Everyone had answered the questions they thought he would ask. _Yes, you'll be able to walk again. Yes, we've been keeping the reporters away. No, we haven't heard anything from the other X-Men._ And the words that weren't in answer to any question, but scared him almost as much as anything that hadn't been said: _You're safe now_.

"Hi, sweetheart," his mother said softly, opening the door a crack.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I can't move."

"Stupid question," Madeline said apologetically. "I know it's uncomfortable."

"What's the time?"

"It's around eleven-thirty. They should be bringing around lunch soon. I brought some movies for you to watch. I thought you might like to see something on the TV besides yourself."

"Thanks." Far as he could tell, it was the first time either of his parents had mentioned the scandal. "Where's Dad?"

"Home."

"Home," Bobby repeated. Then, "Wait a minute. It's Wednesday, isn't it?"

Madeline nodded. Making the connection, she looked down at her shoes for a second. "You're wondering why he isn't at work?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"He hasn't worked at the factory for a long time now. Just like I had to close the store."

"He was fired?"

"Well… yes."

"Because of me," Bobby said flatly.

"Don't blame yourself."

"But was it?"

"We don't have any way of knowing. He'll find another job. It'll be easy."

Guilt uncoiled inside him. It didn't make any sense; after all, it wasn't like he had _chosen_ to be a mutant. But it sort of sucked that he could disable nuclear bombs but couldn't stay connected with his family or keep them from facing the slings and arrows of whatever. "Have you heard anything from my friends?"

"Chad stopped by our house once or twice while you were under. Frankie and Luke are still keeping their distance, I'm afraid. It doesn't make any sense, but there it is."

"Yeah, I wondered about them, but that wasn't what I meant. I meant Peter. Henry. Ororo." He thought it would be better not to use code names in front of her. He couldn't believe that the others hadn't even asked after him.

"Am I interrupting something?" came an unfamiliar voice from the door. Bobby expected another doctor, but the speaker turned out to be a small, balding man with a large head and small eyes, dressed in what was obviously an expensive suit. "Ah, Robert Drake. So we meet at last." He must have seen Bobby's blank look, because he cleared his throat. "My name is Senator Andrew Border Turk. I've been assisting your parents in their case."

"Case?"

Senator Turk's face registered a blank, incredulous look of its own. "Their lawsuit," he elaborated, as if speaking to an imbecile. "Their _fifty million dollar_ lawsuit against Charles Xavier and the X-Men."

With effort, Bobby turned his head toward his mother. "Mom, what's he talking about? You guys aren't really suing the professor, are you?"

Before Madeline could say a word, Senator Turk butted in again. "Wrongful neglect, my boy. Extortion. Those words mean anything to you?"

"Not really."

"I'm surprised. Because I think they pretty much describe what Xavier's been putting you through the last few months. And your parents agree. As soon as you feel up to it, I'd like you to answer a few questions."

"Mom…" Bobby said again.

"I'm sorry," was all Madeline could think to say.

**

Later, she stood with Will at the foot of their son's bed, taking turns trying to explain. She'd been concentrating so firmly on their belief that they were doing the Right Thing that she hadn't thought far ahead enough to consider what Bobby's reaction would actually be. Now, she could have kicked herself. Hard.

"Please listen," Will was saying. He sounded desperate, which she couldn't remember ever hearing from him, and so very tired. "Your mother and I need your support in this."

"My support in taking down my friends. Makes sense."

"Friends don't get you into the kind of danger you've been put in ever since you left home," Madeline jumped in. "How do you think we've felt, knowing that you'd been put up against one mutant terrorist after another… that one almost _killed_ you… oh, and let's not forget the secret military group that wanted to turn you into a human weapon."

"And when you put all of that together with Xavier's reputation, for, ah, changing people's minds to suit him…"

"Whoa, whoa!" Bobby raised a hand. "Nothing like that is going on."

"We don't know that for sure…" Madeline began.

"Mom!"

"…which is why we've decided to leave it alone," she told him. If she'd expected him to be mollified by that little detail, she was disappointed. "We're just sticking with what we _know_."

Bobby wasn't listening. "How could you do this? We put our asses on the line to save you guys from people like the Brotherhood, and this is what you're doing to us?"

"Watch your language," Will said in a warning tone.

"Stop treating me like a little kid! You were always okay with what I was doing before." He stopped as he realized that they hadn't been. Not remotely. They'd just done a pretty good job of faking it.

"Do you think we can afford to pay all your medical bills now that neither of us are working?" Will went on in a more reasonable voice.

"Yeah, I mean, no, and I'm sorry about all of that, but…"

"Senator Turk's taking care of it for us," Madeline finished. "And once the suit's been settled, we can move and start over."

"And did either of you ever think about what _I_ want?"

"Which is why we're asking you now."

"No, you're not. Whatever I say, you're just going to go ahead with it."

"You're not telling us you _liked_ playing super heroes with those hoodlums, are you?" Will asked him.

"They're. Not. Hoodlums." Bobby spoke with a firmness that belied his condition. "They're my best friends. They saved my life. And they're trying to save other people's."

"By taking a sweet, considerate boy from his parents and forcing him to fight for some crackpot's pacifist ideas?"

"They didn't _take_ me, Mother. I ran away, remember? To protect you."

She did remember, only all too well.

"And that sweet little kid is gone. Dead. He's been dead ever since I left you guys that note and climbed out my window."

Madeline could feel her husband's hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

"I'm an X-Man," Bobby said evenly. "Whether you like it or not. Now please leave me alone."


	10. Rainfall

Chapter 9: Rainfall

The sudden shower of rain was not a coincidence. Since that afternoon, when she and Beast had closed themselves off in her room for a Serious Discussion that had slowly but surely turned into One Hell Of A Fight, Storm's emotional outbursts had spurred a downpour that was currently drenching most of the campus and might extend over half of Salem Center if the two of them didn't go their separate ways and cool off.

Jean was doing her best to concentrate more Dr. Armand's reply to her email and less on her friend's accusations or Henry's protests, but the scene in the next room was becoming murder on her attention span.

_…It is still a highly controversial practice to seek help from mutants…_

"Damn it, Henry, you said you were going to give it up, now give it up!"

_…Desperate is too strong a word, but nevertheless…_

"Why are you getting angry at me, Ororo. All I said was that…"

"I know what you _said_. You can stop _explaining_ it to me. You don't need to explain. You're so frigging _patronizing_ sometimes, did you know that? What, do you feel so small that you have to make other people feel like the village idiot once in a while?"

"I said, no more psychoanalyzing me!"

…I am interested in the opinion of someone who can literally enter the mind of a mental patient in a case where my years of trying to do so figuratively have not paid off…

Jean removed her glasses, polished them on her shirt, and replaced them. She considered sending a mental call out to the feuding lovebirds, _Hey, guys, some people are trying to launch their next assignment,_ but doubted that they'd even care at this point. Should she tell the professor? No, it put her too much in the position of the second-grade tattletale. Ororo and Henry were adults. They could take care of this one themselves. She returned her attention to the computer screen.

…I would appreciate it if you would arrange a meeting time.

_Score_, she thought. Ironic — herself a former head case, and Professor Xavier had had her working with the mentally unbalanced before her first year at the Institute was up. There would always be the minds that were too damaged for her to heal, the souls lost to darkness that she couldn't penetrate, but her failures lost her neither class points nor the gratitude of her — clients? connections? — for her efforts, and they were far outweighed by her successes. Each time she stopped a psyche poised at the brink from sailing off into the edge, her spirits were lifted as well, and she had to give firm internal instructions not to look to pleased with herself.

_This is the ideal area for you, Marvel Girl_, the professor had told her after her first major breakthrough. _Not only does it give you a chance to help those who are beyond the reach of human psychiatry, but it also gives you a chance to re-confront the way your own past… issues have shaped who you are now._

_You don't know the half of it_, Jean thought now. Of course, he undoubtedly _did_ know the half of it, at _least_. But once in a while, when she gazed at the faint scars on her knuckles and was reminded once again that she had been the one to put them there, the thought _But he wasn't there_ crept back into her mind.

"You cannot push me away and push me away like you've been doing for the past couple of days, and then come crawling back to me and think that —"

"Ororo —"

"_I'm talking!_ And think that your same old half-assed conspiracy theory is some sort of excuse!"

True, it was _almost_ like he'd been there. The day she'd arrived here, he'd been the one to enter her memories and examine each one and help her build a wall between herself and the pain of her past while she had tried to obey his orders to breathe slowly and concentrate and, above all, to stay calm. And she'd kept thinking things like, _How can I stay calm, you're in my mind and I can't make you leave, don't listen don't touch don't look, I won't let you see._ And he'd told her that there was nothing she could show him that would shock him too badly, that trust was an important part of the end that he was trying to achieve. But if she could rise above her panic and listen, she would know how to build her own shields to keep other people's thoughts out and, more importantly, keep herself _in_. At that moment, that idea had seemed almost too good to be true. When she had been able to build a suitable mental screen, he had released her and let her cry for as long as she needed to.

"First of all, you weren't _talking_. You were yelling. And second of all, I don't think it's fair to accuse _me_ of patronizing _you_ when you treat my concerns like signs of a neurosis just because they don't go along with what you've been brainwashed to believe!"

When she was taken to meet Scott, then the only other student at the school, the only thoughts she'd heard from him were the ones he'd voiced out loud. He was polite enough not to ask what had happened to her hands.

In the months that had followed, she had built another kind of wall, except this one was between the girl who had burst into tears while Xavier had watched, and the one who tried to believe that no mountain wasn't worth climbing. It was the only way she could survive, the only way she could set foot in one of those hospitals now and project the confidence that would get the job done. Another one healed, another one saved.

"I am so sick of this!" Ororo screamed suddenly. Then both voices lowered. A few minutes later, there came a rapid knocking on the door.

Jean clicked Print on her computer and went to answer it. Eyes wide, arms hugging herself tightly, Ororo looked about half her age and a far cry from the self-assured super-heroine that Jean had come to know. "What's wrong?" Even though she didn't need to ask, and both of them knew it.

"Henry and I just broke up," Ororo said flatly, but tears were spilling from her eyes. "Goddess, look at me. I can't be — I'm not supposed to —"

All Jean could do was stand there. _Even with all I've done for humanity as we've known it, I can't comfort my friend when she's falling apart._

"I'm supposed to be cool," the weather witch choked out. "I'm supposed to be _cool_, and _bad-ass_, and a _superhero_, we're always supposed to know what to _do_…" She broke down completely, sinking onto the bed as if her legs could no longer hold her.

Finding her voice again, Jean sat down beside her. "Hey," she said. "Hey. We're the only ones here. You don't have to be _anything_. I don't even have to know what happened. You can tell me whenever you're ready." She wrapped her arm around Ororo's shoulders, smoothed the ivory locks back from her teammate's streaming eyes. "Shh, girlfriend. It's okay. Nobody's watching us. Nobody." She kept repeating this over and over again until Ororo sat up, shedding her last tears and attempting a smile in a visible attempt to return to her old sassy self.

And not once when Jean was saying those words did it occur to her how very wrong she was.

Outside, the rain gradually slowed and stopped.


	11. Putting The Pieces Together

Chapter 10: Putting The Pieces Together

When Madeline had received the call from the hospital, she had nearly jumped out of her skin with fear. But it turned out that Bobby only wanted her to visit, after refusing to even speak to them for three days. The first thing he said to her when she softly opened the door to his room was, "I still don't like it."

"Oh?" She'd tried to keep her voice cool.

"I still don't like that you guys are suing Xavier. I _hate_ it. But I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Madeline closed her eyes, then opened them. "It's okay. I guess you have every reason to be upset."

"Any word from the others yet?"

"Nothing yet, sorry," she told him. It was the truth — she suspected that Xavier was advising his disciples to stay out of the danger zone and not make any connections that might hurt their chances at winning. _They won't win_, she thought happily. _They haven't a chance_. "But Zelda asked after you when I was at the coffee house this morning." She'd always had a sneaking suspicion that Zelda had known what Bobby was even before it'd been splattered all over the news. It was ridiculous, of course; she'd never given any indication that she knew the truth, but if she'd been too frightened to want to associate with him after she found out, it would explain why Bobby hadn't mentioned her since he'd gone back to the school after coming home to visit.

Now he looked positively bewildered. "Who?"

"Zelda," Madeline repeated. "She's working at the café on Jansen Street now."

"Is she a friend of yours?" Bobby asked, not sounding like he was particularly interested.

_He's putting me on. Got to be._ "Bobby Drake, what are you talking about?"

"No, no, no. What are _you_ talking about?"

"I'm talking about your _girlfriend_. Zelda Langley? That name ring any bells? Her mother and I work out together. The two of you have been friends since junior high."

"I don't know anyone like that."

"The two of you really hit it off again at my birthday party," she said, aware of a strain of desperation entering her voice. _Please tell me this isn't happening._ The doctors had mentioned brain damage as a result of the accident, but assured her that it was highly improbable. _Oh God, this isn't happening. This isn't true._ Not the first time she'd thought those words in the past year, and probably not the last.

Bobby shook his head. "Mom, you're scaring me."

She stared into his utterly blank face, devoid of amusement or understanding or anger or any _idea_ what she was talking about.

_You're scaring me._

She looked at him and realized that it was mutual.

**

Madeline woke up the dead of a moonless night, her entire brain completely alert as if she had never closed her eyes at all. Although clouds covered the sky, some light entered the room, and she could see her husband lying with his back to her. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and heard him snort slightly, but he didn't stir.

There was enough light for her to find her way to the bathroom door, though. As she washed her hands, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. People had always complimented her on her looks; her friends had envied her and strangers had assumed that she was much younger than she actually was. But since Bobby's disappearance, and increasingly since the… the _battle_ that had laid him low, she'd begun to look every inch her age. Her skin had become puffy from lack of sleep, and her mousy roots, under the red dye, had begun to show.

_I'm not the same person I used to be_, she realized. _Any more than he is. Any more than any of us are_.

She thought her heart might burst when she'd heard him speak from his hospital bed. It had been nonsense words, more like sounds, to be sure

_(ee… 'rase… m'mine…)_

but he had spoken. He was awake, he would be fine. And once they'd managed to calm him down, even he had been able to admit that the lawsuit would do them good. He still refused to say anything incriminating about Charles Xavier, though.

That was fine, though. That would do. Senator Turk (whom she couldn't make herself like, no matter how enthusiastic Will was about his support) had said that with the kind of evidence they'd gathered, no statement from the plaintiff would be needed.

They would win.

The X-Men would rot in hell for what they'd done to her child.

And the three Drakes would move somewhere far away. California, maybe, where it never got cold and she could seek out props for the movies, and Bobby could learn to surf, and nobody would ever mention the name "Iceman" again. The whole unpleasant business would be erased from their lives.

_Erased._ That word seemed to linger after the thought had been completed, as if her mind were tasting it.

And she returned, unbidden, to that very afternoon, when she had mentioned Zelda Langley and Bobby had frowned, as if he had no idea whatsoever that they had once spent time together, or even who she was.

_It's possible that he could have sustained brain damage from his injuries_, Dr. Jarvis had said. _But not likely_.

Unlikely that his injuries had caused him to forget a profound — and, some would argue, unnecessary — connection to a member of the species _Homo sapiens_. Okay, fine. She trusted the neurologist on that one.

But what if there was another reason, one that even Dr. Jarvis, with his years of education, decades of experience, and advanced technology, couldn't foresee? That she herself had been in a state of denial about because she didn't want to point fingers?

Her toothbrush clattered into the sink. She didn't pick it up.

If it was true, it was only proving what they had suspected all along. She should have felt victorious. Or, at the very least, armed for battle. But all she felt was frightened. For Bobby. For all of them.


	12. Disturbances

Chapter 11: Hidden Exit

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Please sit down, Miss Munroe." Xavier cast her a sharp glance as she complied. Then he smiled. "No, you're most definitely not in trouble."

"Good," Ororo said. "And please don't do that."

"You weren't betraying anything but the usual worries of a not-quite-eighteen-year-old being summoned to the principal's office, but they were a bit stronger than usual. Not that it's a surprise, after all."

"Oh?" What was he _getting_ at?

"Judging by your outbursts last night, it would seem that _all_ your emotions are running higher than usual," Xavier declared.

"Oh," she said again. _Come on, come on!_ she urged her brain. _Say something _intelligent_, damn you!_ "Jean noticed it, too."

"I think every highly sensitive brain from here to Staten Island noticed it. Have you and Mr. McCoy had a falling out?"

Was she _blushing_? Damn. What for? This guy _was_ psychic, after all, and, even worse, he was probably right. She was surprised she hadn't called down an electrical hurricane instead of that little downpour. Jean probably hadn't even needed to be mentally tuned in to for her to have heard every word. Still, besides feeling — variously — rejected, angry, and hurt, she couldn't hear that he'd been practically _spying_ on her from all the way downstairs without feeling just an itsy bit vulnerable. Not exactly an emotion she was used to.

"Henry is highly sensitive right now," the professor went on.

"I know. I got that, too, but when I tried to tell him that I thought it explained how he was acting, he got mad at me."

"I'm not surprised. You've probably guessed that someone as intelligent as he is doesn't like to be told what's going on inside his head, even if you have just as good a measure of it as Jean or I. However, although I certainly sympathize with him, I wonder whether there was anything you could tell me about his so-called 'conspiracy theories'?"

More than vulnerable, after all. The word came to her mind unexpectedly — she had the creepiest feeling of being _violated_. And that, she did have experience with.

"He said…" she began. Then she thought back, and realized for the first time how stupid it would sound if she said it out loud. "He said that…"

"Take your time."

"No, never mind, forget it."

"Ororo." He was trying to stare her down again, and she knew that one way or another, he would find out. She stared at the toes of her boots.

"He said that…" Why was this so hard? "Hesaidthatyouwerecontrollingourminds." The words came out in a very un-Storm-like rush.

"Pardon?"

She took a deep breath. "He said that you were controlling our minds," she repeated, watching his reaction closely. "That you're making us agree with you all the time, and you're making us want Bobby back here for all the wrong reasons."

He sighed. "I'm disappointed to find that Henry is indulging in such paranoia, but quite frankly, I'm not surprised."

There wasn't any answer to _that_ except, "Huh?"

"Your generation has been nurtured on _The X-Files_ and Saturday morning cartoons, am I correct?" Seeing the look on her face, "I didn't mean you _personally_. But you do love movies so much that you're sure to have come across some form of the stereotype. The character with the large, shiny head, the mental powers, and the plan for saving humanity from itself is rarely portrayed favorably, wouldn't you agree?" He smiled again.

"So it's not true?" She couldn't resist asking.

"Having you in my care means that I am responsible for deciding what is best for you," said Xavier. "It also means, however, that I am responsible for maintaining your trust. Unless I deemed it absolutely necessary, I would never touch any of your minds. And I have not deemed it absolutely necessary yet."

A wave of unanticipated relief washed over her. "That's what I tried to tell him."

"He refused to listen, and that's not your fault. I would suggest that you let it sit for a while. In the meantime…" He opened a drawer of his desk and removed a file folder, which he pushed toward her. "Cyclops has already received a similar file. He'll be departing this evening on his newest assignment. I think it would do you some good to get away from the Institute for awhile."

"Thanks. I'll keep it in mind…" She trailed off. "That wasn't just an offer, was it?"

"Unless you'd like to accompany Colossus and Wolverine on their drug bust, then no. I thin you will like this one. Go ahead, open it."

Ororo did, only to be faced with a photo of a smiling, dark-haired teenage boy. He looked vaguely familiar, and she wondered if she'd seen him on the news or _American Idol_ or somewhere like that.

"Roberto Da Costa was a freshman at Pacific Heights High School up until his disappearance two days ago," Xavier told her. "He's a fine student, popular, and a gifted soccer player. He's also possessed of a form of super-strength derived from direct contact with solar energy."

"Pacific Heights," Ororo echoed. "That's in California, right?"

"San Francisco, to be exact. I've already set you and Scott up with false identification and transcripts from elite private schools. Your assignment is to investigate Roberto's disappearance and, if all goes well, arrange his safe return."

"Won't people recognize us?"

"It's impossible to maintain a mental hologram from this great a distance. If anyone asks, just say you admire that Storm character a great deal."

"Cool."

"Shall I take that as a sign of consent?"

"Looks like I don't have much of a choice," she said.

"I will notify Cyclops of the adjustment in plans. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to have you along."

They had all been allowed their time to recover from the devastating events in Europe — Xavier included. Now it was time to get things moving again. There was nothing she liked better than a goal to accomplish, and this looked like the perfect opportunity. Besides, after the little sunspot they were looking for was safe and sound, she could probably convince Scott that a little direct contact with some solar energy was just what the two of them needed as well.

It was probably true. Some time away would be good for her. _He thinks I'm stupid? He thinks he was wasting his time with me? Well, maybe it's the other way around. I'll do my good deed, I'll ace this assignment, and I'll show him that I don't need him around to make me feel all fulfilled. I don't need him._


End file.
